The daily panic e-mail, flogged by the past, and a funeral

The day always starts off with a bang if I check e-mail. IF I am brave enough to open the “local job alerts” e-mail (which sometimes I just am not, it’s not laziness, it’s fucking panic) and I see what little options there are in this town, then I see all the “tips” they give…What to wear, what not to wear, what to say, what not to say…

Enter panic. EVERY SINGLE TIME.

Because let’s face it, I am not a conventional person, never have been. Not to mention, I am POOR. Wrinkles in my clothes say I don’t care about my appearance? Really? How about “too broke to buy an iron” ?No, that’s not a consideration. What about the cat hair that I missed with the lint brush? Not professional? The scuffed shoes? Oh, wait, it’s the only pair of dress shoes I own. So because I have a tight budget and my kid comes first, I don’t care about finding a job because I don’t look perfect?

Clean, kempt, prompt, friendly, and an effort to look good are not important.

Now I gotta jump thru the “am I pretty enough” hoop.

Then we get to the interview skills. Which go out the fucking window because any time I am placed in a position outside my comfort zone, panic kicks my ass and I tend to stammer and repeat myself and just wear this vacant nervous smile.

And I have practiced with people, and written little scripts, and none of it helps. Zero hour and I flop.

Between all that and my past and of course, the fact that I STILL DON’T HAVE MY SHIT TOGETHER AND AM NOT READY TO GO BACK TO WORK…

Yeah, that one e-mail is a kick in the teeth every day.

I want to tell everyone I am simply not stabilized enough…But I am upright and walking thus in their book I am cured and MUST get a job. Funny thing about that is, SOMEONE HAS TO BE WILLING TO GIVE YOU A BLOODY CHANCE AND HIRE YOU.

Yeah, this day is not starting out promising for me, I should skip e-mail in the mornings. Or filter it and deal with it later when I have had a chance to buck up my psyche for the day.

Yesterday, R told me when he was at my dad’s last weekend fixing their washer, my dad asked why he and I broke up. And R told him it was “the extreme highs and lows and all of the spending”. (I spent about three hundred bucks on his credit card during a manic jaunt.)

Fair enough, that part sucks even for me.

But for 15 years I have been letting this man off the hook with his guilting me about my baggage.

Yesterday, I called a spade a spade. He spent 15 years with a woman with borderline who abused him and his kids. I never hit him or his kids.

He blames me for having a crap shrink when we were together who was giving me meds that made it worse instead of better. Yeah, that was my doing. It was all I could afford. Meanwhile, R had thirty grand in the bank, but not once did he say, “This is not normal, you have something wrong, let’s take you to a different doctor.”

No he put it all on me, like I chose the quack that misdiagnosed me for 15 years and gave me meds that nearly killed me. He could have helped me had he thought I was able to be help. He chose to assume that was just my personality and discarded me. I pointed out I have an illness and he wouldn’t have done that had I had cancer. He wouldn’t still be going on all these years later about how my bedridden state was hard on him and my treatments were so pricey and blah blah blah.

But no because my illness is mental, it’s utterly insignificant and worthy of flogging me with, no matter how many times I have explained, apologized, and atoned.

BULLSHIT.

He said, “To your credit, you’ve really changed.”

MOOD STABILIZERS, MOTHERFUCKER, DUH DUH DUH!!!!!!

It brings my venom out when people mistake symptoms of my bipolar as just being my personality.

I am mouthy, impatient, insecure, high strung, and sarcastic. I own THAT IS MY PERSONALITY. I do not absolve myself for these things, I simply own them and try to do better.

The extreme highs, lows, the tears, the mania, the panic, the paranoia, that’s bipolar. I pump all this potentially toxic shit into my system trying to “fix” it and it now occurs to me…

I am never gonna be fixed, and if I am fixed enough for myself, it will never be good enough for others.

What baffles me beyond words is R, and The Donor both claim my moods are so wretched they had to walk away…Yet neither of them had a single qualm about leaving me with the kids. Even after R and I split, I still got to keep the kids overnight and take them on outings.

So which is it, douchebags? If I am so damaging to your psyches, why am I fit to be around kids?

I think it just says the obvious. I am not a picnic but I am not as bad as they make me out to be, their psyches just can’t handle it because they are weak and pathetic. Sound harsh? Dumping someone who only needed a better doctor is pretty harsh,too. Especially when it was within your ability to throw them a lifesaver.

I know it all seems petty and like I over reacted, but I am just sick of being the bad guy. Like R was so fucking easy to be with. Like he didn’t have his baggage and flaws and irritating quirks, none 0f which is ever mentioned as it might have been tough on me. It’s all about him. Just like it’s all about the Donor and how horrible I am to him.

Do NOT preach to me about learning to accept people for who they are when you don’t even have the emotional maturity to accept that someone has a mental illness that causes their erratic behavior.

Done.

Now…today is my uncle’s funeral. I opted not to go because I really don’t think a three year old is ready to do the funeral thing. I hope it does not seem too selfish. I thought alot of uncle Jack, I still remember him sharing his Toffifay candies with me when I was little.

After all he went through though…I am glad he is finally at peace.

Oh, and to anyone who reads this blog…Thank you guys for letting me vent and get the poison out of my system so it doesn’t devour me. I know I am long winded and I prattle and I seem irritating and self absorbed… But ya know, from the moment I wake up every morning, it’s kid, cats, outdoor cats, and then somewhere after that, I get to go pee and get a drink and a smoke. This blog is the one place where I get my time. So…thanks for sharing this bumpy journey with me. You guys are very appreciated by me.

One Response to “The daily panic e-mail, flogged by the past, and a funeral”

I think it’s good you didn’t try to take Spook to the funeral, poor kid wouldn’t have understood what was going on or why everybody got upset when she wasn’t quiet etc. I don’t understand the mentality that if you care, you ‘have’ to go to the funeral. I hate funerals – not because of the death, that part is sad but unfortunately it’s a part of life. I hate them because of all the insincere people who slap ‘appropriately’ sad expressions on their faces, I hate all the pseudo-friends gawking at the raw pain of the family. When I go, I don’t want a funeral.